


Blue Christmas

by orphan_account



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Gen, M/M, at least probably, you're going to get us all killed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 14:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4395578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He and Michael were supposed to get drinks, maybe have a quick drunk fuck, and then celebrate the week of Christmas (or was it Christmas Eve? Geoff couldn't keep track) with the crew. He wanted some alone time with Michael because the younger man hadn't been himself lately. It was supposed to be a simple- although isn't that how everything starts out?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I have a bit of a Fake AH Crew AU set in my mind but it revolves mostly around Micheoff (thanks to horrificsmut), but here's a snippet of a scene I couldn't get out of my head. If you like this, please leave kudos and I might try to flesh out more of a cohesive AU. Thank you!

Geoff stood amid the swirling wintry mess, unmoving, unable to shake the feeling of being stuck in that very spot. Michael still stood in front of him, fists still balled at his sides but otherwise looking completely normal. As if it were another normal night out on the town with conversations about mortality; when he was met with Geoff’s silence, he repeated and continued.

“You’re going to get us all killed. Has that _never_ occurred to you?” His voice was hollow, like the thought came from the darkest corner of his soul. He wasn’t looking him in the eyes; he rarely did anymore, especially after the Hamptons and Michael losing a few digits.

Geoff didn’t answer.

Michael suddenly doubled over as breathless, hollow spurts of laughter heaved from what sounded like the deepest pit in his heart. Like he was resigned to it already. Like the thought was a helium balloon, and after letting it go all he had were empty hands. (Empty hands and an empty heart) Like it was a joke that everyone else but Geoff had been in on, and the lights turned on and surprise! a banner was hanging from the doorway that said “You’re Going to Get Everyone You Love Killed!”. Suddenly Michael was howling with laughter.

Geoff stayed silent, half dumbstruck and half disbelieving. He was _laughing_ at this, laughing at the fact that in the end Geoff would be the reason he was dead. Michael himself was slightly taken aback at Geoff’s stunned silence- _hadn’t he realized it?_ \- but was too steeped in the feeling that he’d finally acknowledged it, finally voiced why he didn’t look at the older man the way he used to. Why, even though their relationship was hills and valleys, this valley was the Mariana Trench, and no amount of late night talk or hushed exchanges during stakeouts or silent nights spent leveling glances over the rims of shot glasses would change this. And now, it had been acknowledged. Michael was free from that thought weighing him down. It wasn’t his anymore, it was Geoff’s, and the irony that Michael wasn’t shocked by it anymore and it was Geoff who was nearly sick with anxiety that couldn’t take it, _how fucking funny is that_ , Geoff’s reaction to the implications; that in the end, he would be dead, everyone would be dead, and it would be his fault. Geoff himself couldn’t deny that it would happen. His crew, his boys, his family, his lover- he’d protect them until his dying breath. But with his temper and his stubbornness and his grudges, it’d be the other way around. It always was. It seemed pointless to question the genuinity of the statement, and yet he wanted to do nothing more than to drive the idea, and anyone who said it, into the nearest pit of flames.

However, physically, Geoff was marooned, ballasted in horror. His body was awash with dread, and he was drowning in it. Drowning in the dread and the cheap booze that swirled like bile in his stomach and heart and the snow, the _goddamn snow_ that nipped at his cheeks and his fingers. It was hard to see now, but as he slowly lapsed back into consciousness, Michael stood back up as his hiccups of laughter stopped, and he faltered forward, grabbing Geoff’s shoulder hard, as if to impress his point.

“You’re a possessive bastard. It’s bound to happen eventually, face it.” Michael said, as the alcohol babbled in his words, seeming to do the talking for him.

Geoff said nothing. The quiet of the moment grew between them like a tumor.

“Whatever. Go easy on yourself.” he patted the older man’s shoulder twice. Michael began to stroll away with an air of grandiose towards his car before stopping, thoughtfully, and turning. “Have a Merry goddamn Christmas, Geoffrey.” He gestured wildly around him as he said so, and Geoff just then noticed the brightly twinkling lights and the candy canes that decorated the storefront. _It’s Christmas Eve._ Is he really that drunk already?

A faint glimmer of a memory retrieves itself in the back of his mind, from around this time last year.

Geoff doesn’t bother to remember.  

The man he loves walks away.

 

 


End file.
